At this my aunt appeared rather impressed. She lifted her chin in approval. “Lovely touch. Have you seen to the wine list? You’ll need to pair it well with each course. Although”—she strummed gloved fingers across the linen—“you may wish to not serve red tonight.”

I’d given my cousin as much freedom as she wished in choosing the pairings. I had focused on ordering champagne and rose petals for our toast. I didn’t know why my aunt was opposed to a red blend. Before I could inquire, she continued, crinkling her nose.

“No one needs to be reminded of blood. Especially after that horrid article.”

My focus snapped to my aunt. “What article?”

Seemingly irritated for having brought it up, she marched over to the sideboard and pushed a newspaper into my hands. They trembled ever so slightly as I read the headline.

ATROCIOUS MURDER.

Another Crime of the “Jack the Ripper” Type in New York City.

Without giving me a chance to finish the dreadful piece, she plucked the paper from my fingers. “I’ll mention the wine situation to the butler. You’re certain everything else is ready?”

“Yes, Aunt.” My response sounded wooden even to my own ears, but I feared the mask of calmness I’d donned was slipping. This was a nightmare. No matter how far I traveled or how hard I pushed it from my mind, Jack the Ripper stalked me, invading every aspect of my life. Before she could whip my nerves into a bigger tizzy, I dipped my head. “Excuse me. I need some air before the festivities begin.”

A small courtyard sat behind Grandmama’s home, bordered on all sides by the buildings that comprised her property. Snow-dusted ivy crawled along the walls, and I imagined in the summertime it was alive with wildflowers, swaying in the breeze off the Hudson River.

Too soon, my thoughts twisted into something sinister. I pictured those same vines wrapping about the neck of an unsuspecting victim, strangling the life from her before thorns dug greedily into her skin, spilling blood. My vision became so real, I almost smelled the unforgettable scent of copper.

“Jack the Ripper is truly here,” I whispered to myself, breath puffing in the cold. I shuddered to think what my mind might conjure up now that the Ripper was up to his dark trickery again. Last time, werewolves and vampires had haunted me.

A pale marble statue of an angel grabbed my attention, startling me with its size. I caught my breath, chiding myself for being jumpy. It blended in with the snow and stone walls, though now that I was looking closely, I couldn’t fathom how I’d glanced over something that majestic.

Feathers were carved with a careful hand, the raised wings reminding me of a dove in flight. Snow slipped down the angel’s face, resembling tears. There was a sadness in its face that made me wonder if it was truly an angel. Perhaps it was one of the fallen.

The clomping of boots alerted me to his presence before I turned. I quickly pulled myself together, hoping the remaining tremors would be mistaken for a reaction to the cold. I shifted around to face Thomas, my expression neutral. I knew I wouldn’t fool him with a smile, but my nerves could easily be the result of his party. He knew I was more comfortable with a scalpel in hand than I was reciting a toast, and he adored me all the more for it. I was surprised he wasn’t alone.

A cat as black as night trotted along behind him. I squinted at it, noticing there was a patch of white under its neck. “Cresswell, there’s a cat following you.” I searched the courtyard for a broom or some other object to shoo the beast away with. I tapped my cane on the ground as a last resort, eliciting an annoyed flick of the cat’s ears. It looked at Thomas, and either my delusions had begun in earnest, or the stray was about to strike. “It’s going to pounce on you.”

“Actually, he’s waiting to be invited. Observe.” Thomas patted his shoulder once. Without hesitation the cat leapt from the ground, perching on his shoulder, and stared smugly at me. “Wadsworth, meet Sir Isaac Mewton. Sir Isaac Mewton, this is that special human I told you about. You’ll be nice to her or there won’t be any more belly rubs in your future.”

I opened my mouth and shut it. Words abandoned me. At least I was no longer on the brink of falling into the Jack the Ripper abyss… Thomas had once again managed to yank me from my doom. Except this time, he wasn’t aware of his assistance.

“Sir Isaac Mewton?” I closed my eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to address that creature that way? Where did you even find it?”

“Don’t be absurd. You don’t call me His Royal Eminence Lord Thomas James Dorin Cresswell, do you? Sir Isaac will be quite adequate. He found me a few streets over. His command over gravity rivals his namesake’s.”

I might start calling Thomas His Royal Pain in My Arse. “We cannot keep it.”

“Sir Isaac,” he corrected.

I sighed. “We cannot keep Sir Isaac. How can we care for him on our many travels?”

Thomas frowned. I thought he’d see the logic in my statement; apparently, I was wrong. “Do you expect me to turn my back on this face? Look at the cunning in his eyes.” He petted the cat, which still perched on his shoulder, its golden eyes watching me warily. “Are you denying me my one true birthday wish?”

“I thought the gift of my presence was your one true wish,” I said blandly.

He made a face. “Imagine, coming home from a long day’s work, tossing your blood-splattered apron off, grabbing a warm mug of tea. Then Sir Isaac hops into your lap, circles, once, twice, possibly thrice, before curling into a ball of warmth and fluff.” He scratched the cat’s head, drawing a purr so loud it might alarm the neighbors. “Tell me having a cat’s affection and a good book doesn’t sound like an ideal evening.”

“Is that really all you’d like me to picture? If that’s an ideal evening, then how, exactly, do you fit in?”

“You’d be scantily clad in my lap; Sir Isaac would be in yours.” Thomas held fast to the cat as he ducked the snowball I tossed at him. “What? It’s my fantasy of our future!”

I wiped the snow from my gloves, giving in. “Fine. Sir Isaac stays. I suppose he’s a Cresswell-Wadsworth now.”

Levity vanished from Thomas’s expression. “Are you thinking of taking my name—in part? I didn’t think—is that what you want?”

I picked at imaginary fuzz on my gloves, stalling. “No, I don’t believe I will.” I flicked my attention to his, noting the slight flash of disappointment before he wiped it away. I smiled. “At least not in part.”

He looked up quickly; hope slipped in between the cracks of his emotional armor. His reaction made me all the more certain of my decision. “Does that mean…?”

I bit my lower lip, nodding. “I’ve thought about it a great deal. If the choice was never offered, I might feel differently. But, I—I’m not sure how to describe it. I want to share a name with you. Thomas doesn’t quite suit me, although you’d make a lovely Audrey Rose.”

His laugh was full and rich. The cat twitched its tail and hopped to the ground, annoyed it was no longer the center of Thomas’s world. Once my love collected himself, he stepped near, holding my hands in his. “I would take your name, if you wanted to keep it.”

He meant it, too. I pulled him to me and kissed him lightly. “Which is precisely the reason I’m happy to become a Cresswell. Now, let’s go. We’ve got a birthday party to attend and a rather fun announcement to make.” I looked at the cat. “You, too, Sir Isaac. Let’s be on our way. I have to put my gown on and I’m sure I can rustle up a rather dapper ribbon for you.”

Lord help me, but the cat seemed to perk up at the thought. It was a Cresswell through and through.

THIRTEEN

CHAOS UNLEASHED

GRANDMAMA’S DINING ROOM

FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY

23 JANUARY 1889

I threaded my arm through Thomas’s, leading him into the dining room, where our families waited, milling about. My betrothed abruptly halted, nearly making me lose my balance as he took in each of the dessert tables. Sir Isaac Mewton hissed from his shoulder, displeased with either his frosty-blue silk bow or Thomas’s sudden halt. He hopped to the ground and skirted around us, heading straight for the bowl of cream I’d asked the footman to leave for him.

“You beautiful, brilliant, wonderful woman,” Thomas whispered, eyes going wide as he stuck his finger in the closest cake and tasted the frosting. I shook my head. He had the manners of an alley cat and the disposition of a child. “My God. Is that espresso frosting? I’ve never—” He inspected me in that Cresswell way of his. “Your creation?”

“It was just an idea—I know how much you favor coffee, and it goes so well with chocolate…”

Thomas kissed me, hard and deep, only stopping when someone cleared their throat across the room. We broke apart, both of us flushed, and waved shyly at our family members. Aunt Amelia, the likely culprit for the admonishment, tsked.

“Thank you for joining us for Thomas’s birthday celebration,” I said, once we’d all taken our seats around the large mahogany table. “Please raise your glasses in a toast. Mr. Cresswell is now eighteen. If only he were a bit wiser to match his old age.”

“You may be waiting on that day for all eternity, Audrey Rose.” Daciana elbowed her brother, smiling tenderly. Chuckles went around the table.

We feasted on the roasted boar and herbed potatoes, forgetting about proper dining protocol on who needed to speak to whom, and simply enjoyed being together. After the desserts began arriving in earnest, Thomas caught my attention and raised his brow. It was time.

Suddenly, glancing into the faces of our loved ones, my nerves came back with a vengeance. I wasn’t sure why my mouth was now bone-dry, or why my heart beat three times too fast. These people loved us; they wouldn’t pass judgment. And yet I couldn’t stop the flutter of my pulse. The last of the sweets were making their way to us, and I had no choice but to stand up and announce our betrothal. It was all so real, I—